A Matter of Grip

The quiet inside has grown tedious. I descended to the entryway floorboards and climbed the lower tiers of the dark wooden shoe rack. On the third shelf rested a worn leather sneaker, laced tight with thick, braided cord. A vertical ascent. I seized the woven lace with both hands, planting my sandals firmly against the textured rubber sole. The leather gave slightly beneath my grip, pliable yet dense. In two deliberate pulls, I hauled my weight up onto the high collar of the ankle support, balancing upright on the narrow leather rim. The doorframe stands directly ahead. An adequate first step toward what lies beyond.